


The Crusades

by SynWrites



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Angst and Humor, F/F, Fantasy AU, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Non-Graphic Violence, Pharmercy, Prison, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Swearing, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9261242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynWrites/pseuds/SynWrites
Summary: The mercy of the lord is vast and ever reaching, and will be brought upon those who stand in its way as a Warhammer upon a helm.Angela Zeigler is an angel sworn to the deity that's given her the gift of life once again. Fareeha Amari is the daughter of Anna, a patron of the war goddess Menhit.Pharah will lead her mother's army to fight against the troops of the white angel, though perhaps this doesn't go quite as planned.





	1. The Battlefront

It was a sight she’d never quite get used to. Men raising their swords to one another, bringing red spatter and pained grunts with every downward motion of a blade. There were too many to fix, and even soaring atop the battle field she became rattled, which direction to head first and which ailments to cure. Only a few hours into the war did she find that it was impossible to help them all. Men would die under her care and there was nothing to be done. Angela healed the strong, those would could take down ten in the time it’d take another to dispose of two. “Cutting their losses” she’d heard it referred to as.

It made her sick, these well meaning humans fighting for a cause she didn’t know if they understood  
.  
“Mercy!” It was the commander or her battalion, and the angel reeled, eyes scrambling to find where the voice had come from. Below Angela swells a sea of humans and it was all so very confusing. It was then that an arrow pierced her flank, and she grit her teeth as burgundy left a stain on her white clothes, forcing her wings to beat harder. Feathers fell from above as another arrow whizzed past, nearly clipping her wing but only dislodging some plumage. “Mercy look out!” It was frantic this time, and she yelled in frustration.

“Mein Gott! I know! Give me a se-“ she could have used that second to finish her sentence, but instead it was repurposed into a moment for her to be tossed from the sky. In a flurry of white wings, Angela was tumbling through the air over the battlefield. It felt as though she’d been kicked by a horse in the chest. Without breath and clutching at her white armor, the ground was only nearing as she was inadvertently putting distance between her and her men. Plummeting into the sands, Mercy’s eyes were glazed, her wings flared out over the sands, two white sails that shone in the midday sun. Her healing staff lay abandoned a few feet of, and a dull silver halo had been tossed from her head to sit besides it.

The angel’s eyes closed, and she fell unconscious listening to battle only a few miles off.

* * *

Pharah had been proud, hell, she was still proud. She’d launched a pulse of flame so high into the heavens it literally knocked an angel from the clouds. It was honestly a catapult, but a well aimed one. Her mission given by her mother was to take down the healer, as their army could best any nation if the men would die as normal men do. What she hadn’t expected was the angel to be tossed so far from the battle, and now, still armor clad, she was sitting upon her horse and trotting through the dessert.

her mother heard she’d lost the angel Pharah may never live to see another day.

"Hello? Any man out there!” She called, spurring her horse faster when she found red stained feathers in the sand. Finally, the horse reared as she found the woman. The sun was beginning to set and the sky was painting itself orange and red.

" There you are,” Fareeha sighed to herself, stepping down from the horse. She examined the angel. The wings were larger than she thought they’d be, at least ten feet in length, the color of the orange sky made them glow brilliantly at the edges. “Your god..” she very gently nudged the woman’s leg with a boot, “makes fantastic abominations..” It was clear she was still not conscious, but Fareeha very gingerly crouched down to make sure she was still even breathing. If she wasn’t Ana Amari would make sure her daughter wasn’t breathing for much longer either.

Hearing her breath, Fareeha thanked the gods and tried to find what to do next. She bound the woman’s hands, and then sat her upright, picking up the surprisingly light wings and tying those closed as well. Angela could run, but at least she couldn’t fly.

Sitting down in the sand, Pharah began to build a fire. She dare not travel the desert at night, for it is believed Ammit will come and reap the men of battle. Though she had not slain many today, Fareeha was not willing to take the chance. The sounds of war were dulling in the night, and she'd learn what'd become of her men in the morning.

The fire flickered alive once the sun had sunk below the horizon, and it was then that the soldier realized she was being watched by two silver-blue orbs, pulsing light in the darkness.


	2. By the Hands of the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy and Pharah and a monstrosity from the heavens?

Stumbling a bit, the woman picked up her sword with a grunt. “You.. You’ve been awake?” Pharah’s voice sounded more disgruntled than she’d meant it to. Then again, she was being watched by a celestial being in the dead of night, an circumstance that disturbed her. The eyes looked to the right, then left, assessing the situation, and then back to Fareeha. Angela’s mind was slow to work, the confusion of being found so far from where she remembered being. Her mind was in a haze. The battle, that’s what she recalled last, and then getting knocked from the sky.

  
It was then that her eyes widened, all the while Fareeha was standing, watching with unrestrained fascination. “W.. ho.. Who are you?” she tried to flair her wings in alarm. The feeling of them being restricted made her anxious. Quite suddenly she was afraid, kicking her white boots in the sand and trying to force herself farther from the armored woman.  
“Stop moving,” it was an order, and one that Angela was quick to abide by. The doctor looked up at Fareeha, glowing eyes wide and attentive. “I am Pharah, Daughter of Anna Amari, and a patron of the Goddess Menhit.”

  
She tried not to snort in response. Of course, she was being held captive by a the hedonistic pagans of the dunes. Now she understood what had occurred. And it was only a matter of time until one of her soldiers came to rescue her. “...And you are one of your god’s... Creatures.” Pharah continued, and Mercy scoffed.

  
Sitting down in front of the fire, she placed her sword next to her, and Mercy watched the fire’s reflection dance in the silver blade. Removing jerky from a pouch, she tore into it. Time passed, or more likely crawled by like a very old one legged man.

  
The two seemed less afraid of one another, and more peeved. Angela had little worry about, knowing how much she was worth to the war effort. They must have won the battle by now, they’d be on their way. Though she wondered why it was taking them so long.

  
“Do you eat?” Pharah broke the stream of Mercy’s thoughts. She turned to Mercy, who was positioned a bit too far from the fire to feel its heat. She’d never expected dessert nights to be so cool.

  
“Do I eat?” Angela inquired. She soon decided it wasn’t the best of ideas to provoke her captor. “Uhm.. yes, of course. I eat..” Did this woman really believe angels could survive without food?

  
Pharah untied Mercy’s hands, and dropped a lone piece of jerky into the sand a few feet infront of her. Sitting back down in the sand with the meat between them, the soldier simply stared at Angela. She reached for the piece. She watched Parah while her fingers removed any piece of sand from the food. Well crafted armor, she noted. The blue was a bit interesting. “Not… much of a conversationalist?” Mercy asked, her voice quaking around her accent. It was a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.

  
“I do not speak to your people.”

  
“My people have done nothing wrong,” she replied quickly, earning a glare from Pharah. “...Or.. perhaps.. I have done nothing wrong?” Mercy thought that was a bit more accurate.  
“You bring men back from Duat-”

  
“Purgatory,” Mercy corrected. Pharah threw her hands up with a look that said, “they’re impossible.”

  
“This is why I do not speak to your peo- .” She stood suddenly, looking around as if she’d heard something.

  
Mercy watched her with a quirked brow, “what?”

  
“Sh.”

  
It was a hiss, a growling sound like air being released. Until it began to catch, a low cat-like growl now. Picking up a stick from the fire, Pharah waved it around, trying to find the creature in the dark. It was then that she tossed the stick and and stomped out the flame. Her breath caught in her throat, fingers tightening around her blade as she stared at Mercy. “Why are you..?” The angel whispered.

  
It lunged from behind mercy with a ear splitting screech. The creature, Mercy would never know how to describe the thing. Its head was a crocodile, like those who sit and eat in the water, front paws like a great cat, and short back legs of dark skin.

  
“No, no,” Pharah waved her sword at the thing, and it hissed back. “I am innocent, i am a good woman, I fight for our gods.” Mercy tried to push herself to her feet, seeing her staff tossed off into the sand. She forced herself up and made a break for it, putting on her halo as she grabbed the weapon. The halo engaged, the silver ring now shining gold above her head. With a whirring sound the staff glowed at its end. Mercy nearly dropped it when she heard the beast speak.

  
No creature such as that should speak.

  
“You are a soldier, a killer of men.” It said to Pharah. “You claim your nobility through the blood of you mother, the grace of a god you seldom pray to… and you.” It turned to Mercy.

Mercy clutched her staff to her chest. Her eyes were glowing brighter now as they stared at the beast's teeth. Perfect white triangles. “You are a healer, the savior of an evil man who seeks to rid the world of any deviation. Your holiness is marred by your desire. Your cowardice is too great for you to admit this.”

  
“You.. you don’t know who I am,” she stutted a bit, though pulled a small dagger from her belt. “I am Mercy.”

  
“I am Ammit, the judgment of man. I am divine retri-” It screeched. The sound seemed to split the night in pieces. Angela covered her ears and shut her eyes, but before she could even understand what was happening her feet were no longer on the ground. The sword in pharah’s had was dripping black blood into the sand.

  
“We’re leaving!” Pharah ordered, pulling her by the ties on her wings. With a bit of a cry, mercy was hefted onto the horse. The ropes dug painfully into her wings. Fareeha jumped onto the horse as well, spurring it on.

  
“What was that?!” Mercy’s hands scrambled to hold onto Pharah’s armor.

  
“Ammit, she brings judgement to men’s souls. The deaths in the battlefield must have drawn her out.” The horse kicked up sand behind them as the soldier pushed him to ride harder through the desert.

 

* * *

 

It was the smell that made Mercy choke. It smelled like fire and rot, flesh burned and charred. They still burned. The corpses seemed to be glowing, some of their chests caving in on themselves as their insides flaked into ash.

  
“Is this..?” She asked as they came over the a dune, the full view of dead men laid out before them.

  
“The battlefield.” Pharah bit down on her own lip to keep from retching.

  
Hundreds, no thousands of dead strewn across the landscape, as far as Mercy could see in the night. Like a black smoldering sea. Something had lit them aflame, all of them. No man could have survived, even the sand itself had charred black.

  
“The gods… they are angry,” was all the soldier had to say. Though she did know what would force them to kill their own men and so many more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed chapter two! I'll try to keep it day by day until I get to chapter five or something.


	3. Gods Such as Yours

“Will you untie me?” She asked. They’d been riding long enough for the sun to begin creeping up onto the horizon. 

“Obviously not.” Pharah’s eyes had been closed for the better part of an hour, the horse’s swaying goaded her into a lul. “I do not need you flying off to wherever you came from.” 

“You mean to Switzerland? It’s a bit of a trip, don’t you think?” Mercy rolled her eyes, tapping an annoyed little tune on the soldier’s armor. She’d fallen asleep several times during the night, and she was sure the metal plates her captor wore had left a dent in her forehead from the last time she’d used them as a pillow. “Where else do I have to go? I wasn’t to return to the heavens until the battle had been won. And considering I’ve been left here, I wouldn’t call that a victory.” Nor did she think her army being turned into an extra well done barbecue a victory. 

Mercy had thought long and hard about where she was meant to go. She didn’t know what to do next. Home was a place she hadn’t gone in a lifetime. The heavens were a place she was kept, not a place she had lived. But they were better than being here, being in the middle of no place at all. Or at least she supposed so. 

“...I do not know you are telling the truth. Besides, we will arrive at the city soon enough. There you will only be more thoroughly shackled by the prison guards. If I were you, I’d enjoy the freedoms you have now.” 

“I am… a prisoner of war?”

“Indeed.” Pharah replied, looking back at Mercy as if to gauge her reaction. 

She just sighed, resting her head on the other’s back once again. It wasn’t as if there was a struggle to be put up. Run away and run to... No where? Pharah silently regarded her lack of panic as a sort of strength. Or a disturbing indication of experience. 

Angela decided to ask a question that was actually worth her time. “So.. that creature that attacked us earlier...” Mercy watched her own hands as she asked. 

“Ammit.” 

“I didn’t know those beasts actually existed.” Angela admitted, the halo hovering above her head turned slowly in the daylight. “We were told they were only stories.” 

“A woman with wings cannot understand creatures of the sand?” It wasn’t a criticizing tone, more of an inquiry. 

“It isn’t that I don’t understand. I was not raised to believe in your pagan monstrosities.” 

“You are a monstrosity,” Pharah replied with a teasing look back at Mercy. The angel cross her arms and rolled her eyes. “You have wings, no real human is born with wings. A ring of light floats above your head. Your eyes glow like a cat’s in the night… and yet you doubt me for believing in creatures in the sand.” 

“...I..” She opened her mouth, and shut it once again. There was no comeback to that point. 

If Pharah wasn’t on duty she would have laughed. 

“Now quiet. I’m not meant to speak with prisoners, Mercy.” It was the first time she’d called her by anything, and the only reason the soldier knew her name was because she’d heard it during the battle. Mercy thought back to the creature, remembering she’d called the other woman Fareeha. 

She quietly noted that it was an interesting name.

* * *

 

 

Mercy had nearly melted off the horse’s back by the time they’d arrived at the city. It was a more spectacular sight than she’d expected. There were patches of greenery, the houses made of stone, some bearing symbols and illustrations. There were palms that decorated street corners, all of which were paved. In the distance she could see a temple. It shone of cleaned rock and gold accents in the mid morning sun. 

Pharah shrugged herself off the horse. Leading it through the streets with her brows drawn together and her mouth slightly agape. As Mercy had assumed, it seemed this city wasn’t always lacking in citizens. 

No one walked the roads, or peered from the house's windows. Dogs did not bark and there were no horses tied to their posts. 

“There are people in your cities? No?” Mercy asked just to be sure, her voice barely above a whisper. It was the only sound besides the clicking of the horses hooves.

Pharah nodded. Her eyes scanned every inch of the city, trekking slowly but surely towards the temple. “Do you think they left to fight in the battle?” The silence was giving Angela the creeps. 

“The woman and children?” Pharah replied after a moment's delay. There were woman warriors such as herself, but they were few and far apart. 

She tied the horse to a post outside the temple, allowing it to drink from a trough. Mercy hopped off, looking up at the building. It made her feel small. The pillars seemed to tower over even the horse, making it look insignificant in the presence of such greatness. 

“We will find the priest within, he will tell us what has happened.” She seemed to care less that her prisoner was walking free and more that her home’s population had vanished. For a moment Mercy thought of making a break for it. But it wasn’t like she could get far in the desert with her wings bound. 

Within the temple it was cool and a breeze from outside ran through the hall. The walls were lined with statues of gods, huge imposing figures that stood with spears and the heads of animals. Mercy watched them with weary eyes. 

_ Why would men worship such beasts? _ She asked herself, staring at a man with the face of a dog. 

The torches mounted upon stone walls still flickered as they ventured deeper into the temple. It seemed there was no time at all for the people to  put them out before leaving. Finally they happened upon a smaller room, one that Pharah had sought out by diverting from the main room and into a hall. The space was small, maps on the walls and papers strewn about a stone desk. 

“Who’s room is this?” Mercy asked, touching a map painted on the stone wall. She traced The Nile with her fingers, though unable to read the names of the cities, she’d seen this map before. 

“The priest,” Pharah replied. Watching Mercy's hands on the stone, they looked delicate but deliberate in the way they moved. Fareeha wondered to herself why she took notice at all. She stole a map from the desk, rolling it up and placing it in a scroll. She slung it across her shoulder. 

“Why’re you taking the map?” Mercy asked, raising an eyebrow as she turned to her. Pharah was collecting various items in her arms, and she followed her when she exited the room to collect clothes from a dresser. 

“If my people are gone, then I will find them,” Pharah responded, shoving some things in a bag on a straw bed. “Find clothing that will fit you and put it in this bag,” she ordered, looking to Mercy. “I will return here in a few minutes with food.” And with that, Mercy soon listened to the sound of her boots tapping down the hall. 

She picked through a few bedrooms, putting together a bundle of clothing. Simple shirts and trousers, mostly from a closet she assumed belonged to a woman who must have worked at the temple.

* * *

 

Pharah heard the yell from the pantry, nearly dropping the bread from surprise. She rushed down the hall, wondering what in the name of the gods would cause Mercy to call her name. The bread did hit the floor when she entered the room. Brown eyes staring but not understanding. Mercy checking the man’s pulse, trying futilely to do something. His blood had gone cold a few hours ago. 

The Priest would not abandon his home, as Fareeha had expected. The body was still pinned to the wall, the sword pushed into the stone behind him. Cold fingers were left holding to the hilt of the blade. 

Mercy stepped back. “I would bring him back but… his soul is too far by now.” She sounded reproachful, though Pharah could not see why she would feel this was about a people she fought against. 

It was then that something caught Angela's eye. Stepping closer, she placed a tentative finger on the sword’s hilt. A small red cross decorated its very end. “This… this is the blade of a Crusader..” The swords her army was equipped with. 

Pharah scowled, looking more than a bit peeved. “Your god, your god ordered this!” She pointed at Mercy, who said nothing. “How can men worship a god such as that?” 

Angela convinced herself these were the actions of twisted men. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: yes, i know the Crusades and the Egypt are so unrelated it isn't even funny, but... i mean angels and crocodile headed monsters aren't exactly realistic either 
> 
> so... kids learn history from anyplace else lol 
> 
> ALSO I've read this a bunch of time and I really hope there aren't typos but don't stone me if there are


	4. Food for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not much going on in this chapter when it comes to the plot, but some fun conversation insues

 

Pharah finally cut the binds from Mercy’s wings, seeing as she hadn’t left yet for seemingly no reason. She could have stolen a horse from town and ridden away by now. Since their small discovery in the last room, they’d both washed up and changed. Pharah decided the pair would begin their journey to the next city in the morning.

Sitting in the dining hall, the soldier was creating a roadmap to follow down the Nile. She knew her city took shelter in Cario during times of hardship, though they had been known to travel all the way to Rosetta if need be. She was pulled out of her thoughts by Angela, who sat across from her. The pale woman dumped a heavily packed satchel of items on the table. 

“So..” she began pulling out some of the things she’d collected. “I found some medical supplies. And I began creating a little first AID pack if we run into any trouble.” Mercy showed her the gauze, some salt, alcohol. She always had her staff but why use divine intervention when she had medical training? Pharah raised an eyebrow. 

“As long as you’re with me you’re my prisoner, not my medic. Once I find my people I will turn you in.” Her voice was flat. 

“I know, I know. But… I would rather be a useful prisoner, right? Anyhow, I’m a doctor by trade. Old habits die hard, no?” She gave the other a small smile, hoping that she wasn’t being held accountable for whoever killed the priest. Pharah had stormed off after the incident, leaving Mercy to her own devices for a while. By now, she hoped that she’d cooled off. 

“...might as well..” she replied, continuing to draw up their route. “It will be a long journey to Cario.” Turning the map to Mercy could see, she traced the path with her finger. “First we will ride horses to Beni Hasan. This city makes strong boats, and we will purchase one and ride the nile downward. People will know you are my prisoner and when we are in this city your hands will be bound. Or else you will be arrested on site.” 

Leaning on her elbows to see, her wings twitched. “If it’d be easier, I can fly above and we’d only have to worry about taking one horse? Though you would have to carry my things.” 

Pharah nodded, and knocked off a few things from the list of items they needed to bring. “One horse.” She passed Mercy the list, and the angel was silently happy she hadn’t written it in hieroglyphics. Wordlessly, Pharah stood, leaving Mercy without an explanation until she returned bearing food on a cart. “We will not have a good meal until we arrive at Beni Hasan, so I encourage you to eat.” 

Her eyes were a bit wide, and Mercy’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “I... thank you,” she replied in a small voice. Taking a plate she picked her food from the cart, and it was quite the spread. Bread, grapes, plums, and a sort of poultry Mercy couldn’t quite name. “This is very kind… an odd way to treat a prisoner, perhaps?” 

Pharah snorted, serving herself some of the beer in a cup. Mercy thought it was odd they weren’t drinking water, though she supposed it was because in the dessert it wasn’t so easily come by. “I would rather you eat now than pass out on the way. You will be flying and I assume that takes energy.” She took a grape, and Mercy watched how calloused hands so carefully plucked it from the vine. 

“It does, but… that still doesn’t mean this goes without my thanks,” she replied, giving her a small nod and beginning to cut through the meat. Pharah must have cooked it while Mercy was still bathing, as it was still warm but not hot enough to burn. 

“Hm.” The soldier replied. 

Angela was never sure what she seemed to be thinking, her stoicism was intimidating. “So… your mother? She is a follower of one of these uhm.. Gods?” 

“Menhit. A goddess of war, she leads our troops into battle and is the soul of the North Wind. Mother of Heka and the wife of Khnum.” Pharah replied quickly. She seemed near eager to tell Angela of these things. As if she had something to prove. 

“My god does not marry,” Mercy replied with a shrug. 

“Why? Is he ugly?” Pharah asked, sounding earnest but the notion was too ridiculous for Angela not to chuckle at. 

“I ah… well… he was never described to me so I suppose it's possible?” She smiled as she spoke, though she knew the joke was probably blasphemy. 

“He must be a very ugly man. My gods have the heads of beasts and even they find love.” Pharah added in contemplation. It made Mercy snort, suddenly imagining the every instance of god in the bible as an unattractive man. But it was a laugh that wasn’t her own that brought her out of her thoughts. It was a warm and short cadence coming from the soldier; until she realized this and quieted herself. 

“She laughs,” Mercy pointed at her with a fork. 

“No, she does not.” Her voice had returned to the stifled and unaffected tone it usually assumed. 

With a sigh, Angela let it go for now. “So… your gods marry.. Do you? Is there a husband somewhere in Cario you’re looking for?” She asked conversationally. 

The answer came with a delay that she didn’t expect. Mercy suspected there was more to be said than the easy “no” she was given. “That took a bit.. Is there a boyfriend out there?” She pressed, curious now as she picked at a melon. 

“No.” Pharah replied, suddenly looking up at Mercy with narrowed as if to say this topic conversation needed to come to a close. But Angela did not expect it to backfire. “How about you Miss. Mercy. Are you a Mrs. Mercy?” 

“Ah.. no.. no I am not,” she replied, and that was all she had to say on the matter. The dust in the air seemed to be carrying all of the baggage those questions carried. “And… Its Angela. Not Mercy, Mercy is a title. Angela is my name.” 

“Angela the angel?” Pharah inquired, choosing to ignore Mercy’s lack of a spouse. She seemed the marrying age. Well, they both were. 

Snorting out a sarcastic laugh, “ironic, I know.”

After a bit, the two settled into a comfortable lull in the conversation. Angela had taken off the halo, and Freeha was no longer wearing the armor. Before she could stop herself, her mind made quick work of taking mental snapshots of just how toned the other’s arms were. The rational part of her brain was not a fan of these images, as it told her of the physical edge Pharah had over the doctor. But there was another part of her brain that she pointedly ignored, and it didn’t quite mind the other’s physique at all. 

Once finished with her food, Pharah stood and cleared her plate. “I will be going to bed,” she stated. 

“Oh, ah ok,” Mercy nodded, clearng her thoughts. “Good night?” But Fareeha had already begun to walk away. 


	5. Drastic Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharah decided a caravan man was getting too handsy with a sword.

Pharah arose before day break. She collected things and strapped up her boots. Setting out food for her captive before she’d even risen, so she wouldn’t have to wait for the woman to prepare it herself. By the time the sun was rising she had poured water into satchels and her bags were mounted to the dapple grey horse outside the temple. It chewed the bit in its mouth and scratched the pavers with a hoof. The soldier pet it's peach fuzzed noze before heading back into the temple.

On the other hand, Mercy’s day was only crawling to a start. She awoke with a dry mouth and her eyes never quite wanting to open. She finally managed to pull herself from the creaking bed, the smell of the temple hanging low in the air. The desert air and the musk of old structures. Incense too, and she figured Pharah must of lit some. Shuffling out of her room in the moth eaten clothes she’d borrowed, Mercy found food patiently waiting for her in the dining hall. She ate gingerly, listening to the sounds of the empty city outside. Birds and the wind. As she picked grapes from their stem an odd wanting for Pharah’s company arose. It really was a painful silence in a deserted land.

After some deliberation, she rose from her seat and cleared the table.

Mercy pulled off her pajamas and examined herself closely, finding bruising on her ribs. The skin was sore and discolored the catapult that’d been used to knock her from the sky had not fractured anything. She silently called it a small miracle. The wound on her thigh had been dressed in clean bandages last night, which she worked on exchanging once again. Her wings were currently frustrating her.

The ropes had bent some feathers and rubbed off others, but no matter how adeptly she maneuvered the appendages she couldn’t reach the unruly plumage. Mercy usually enlisted a friend to help preen the hard to reach places.

Changing her clothing, Mercy found some robes of white and red. They had a hood and were made of loose wraps that she could loosen to fit her wings through. It would be difficult to wear human clothing for her stay here. She placed her halo on her head, the cool metal feeling heavy in her pale hands. Above her it spun slowly and emit its usual golden glow.

Once done, Angela looked herself up and down in the stained full body mirror. She looked better rested than she’d expected, tying her hair up in her usual ponytail. She left her room and nearly smashed into Pharah on her way out. “Oaf, sorry!” Luckily, she dodged the soldier who mumbled an apology.

“Are you ready to leave?” Fareeha asked, pulling a drawstring shut on a stout leather bag. She gave Mercy a small look over, noting she’d never seen someone who looked quite like her in commoner’s clothing. “I’ve gotten everything ready. I did not want to wake you, but we must leave soon.”

“I think I’m good to go.” Mercy took a moment to add to her reply. “I.. You could have woken me up, I would have helped? But.. sorry for your having to do it by yourself.”

With a shake of her head she dismissed the notion. “You can help me by grabbing your things and meeting me outside.” Pharah responded, leaving the hall. “And be quick about it,” the soldier added, poking her head out of a room. Mercy rolled her eyes and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am,” she turned on her heels and went to grab her staff. Pharah made it a point not to watch her walk away.

* * *

 

In just an hour for they had begun their trek across the desert. The sun was sitting high above them, and Mercy’s wings beat the gusts beneath them. The horse was being led at a slow canter through the sands. Angela swooped down from time to time, flying low above the ground, great white wings kicking up sand when they flapped. Pharah would watch her fly with a weary sort of jealousy.

The soldier wondered what the freedom of wings was like, to be so mobile all the time. It made her horse feel slow when Angela rose high above them. But the wings were perfectly white and shone in the sun. It was hard not to admire them. She nearly felt bad for the patches of skin left fatherless, or the few places where they had been bent awkwardly. Pharah would have to restrain the want to fix them.

Abominations should not be allowed to be that beautiful.

High above the ground, Mercy watched the horse that tread below her. She could see the city on the horizon, the Nile close to it. Though she doubted they’d arrive there today even under the best of circumstances. Her mind was drawn to the sword they’d found in the temple.

Could her people really kill the man? He wasn’t a soldier, he didn’t want to fight. He should have been spared. He should have been converted, his soul saved and cleansed for the lord… Like herself. This made Mercy wonder why she wasn’t trying her best to assist Pharah with her faith. She should resent this woman, she captured her and bound her wings. But Mercy had been allowed more freedoms than she’d had even at home. Well. In the Kingdom. Here she could fly without restrictions, and awoke when she felt. There wasn’t a uniform to wear or times to pray. She felt guilty for not praying before her meal last night but.. It had slipped her mind.

Mercy spotted a cart from her bird’s eye view, it was far from where they were but she decided to land and tell Pharah anyhow. She nearly tripped on the sand as her boots collided with it, but was able to flap her wings and regain her balance. Fareeha slowed her horse once she saw Mercy on the ground, stopping just in front of her. “Yes?”

“There’s a caravan ahead, over the next dune. I thought you might want to know.” She pulled a loose strand of disheveled blond hair behind her ear.

“...Hm.” Pharah thought of what they would do about this.

“Should I fly above so they don’t notice me?”

“... No... If they do we’d be in more trouble than if they think I’m holding you captive.” Pharah shrugged herself off the horse and pulled a rope from one of her bags. She walked behind mercy who flared her wings in distaste. “Don’t be difficult.” The elegantly vast wings folded. Pharah tied them, but this time the rope was loose and she made sure not to ruffle any of the feathers. After a moment's deliberation she plucked a crooked plum, making Mercy yelp. She earned a nasty blue eyed glare from the angel. “It was… bothering me..” Pharah held it up as if that made her case. The white feather was bent at a ninety degree angle.

Next, her hands were tied, and Mercy watched as they were bound. “If you want to help preen you could have asked. But don’t just pull. We consider it rude.”

That made Pharah grunt, “I wouldn’t want to be rude,” she fastened the rope tighter around the other’s hands as she said this. Mercy scrunched her nose at the way the rope bit into her skin. “Now would I?” The rope was loosened a bit. “Now get on the horse.”

* * *

 

Mercy watched the people from the caravan. More accurately they watched her. She kept her head down when she saw a little boy pointing and asking his mother questions in a language Mercy could not understand.

Pharah had gotten off to talk to them, perhaps buy more supplies. “Do you have headscarves? The sun is harsh this time of year...” She asked in her native tongue, looking over at the fabrics and fruits and figurines the traveling family was selling. It was then that her eyes caught something, a paper nailed to the caravan. She’d already had the scarf in hand when she was caught staring. There were ads for festivals in different cities, flyers for sales of crop yields. And two wanted posters, one of a random citizen with an unfortunately crooked stare. The other was a drawing of a woman in with blonde hair and a halo above her head. Pharah backed up, saying polite thank you’s and goodbyes. She got onto the horse and instructed Mercy to put on the headscarf immediately.

“Why?” She asked, but clumsily pulled it over her face bound hands.

A woman pointed, and then tugged on her husband’s hand. Then he used his hand to hide his eyes from the sun. At this point Pharah spurred on the horse, forcing the animal to ride harder into the desert. The man was now riding a horse towards them, chasing the pair. Pharah knew this man had the city’s reward in mind. Even if they believed Mercy her prisoner there was no one stopping them from taking the angel and claiming the reward for herself.

Pharah needed to be the one to turn Mercy into her mother. Or else this entire mission would have been for naught.

“What’s going on?” Angela asked a bit frantically, eyes wide as she held onto the back of Pharah’s shirt so she didn’t fall.

“Your wanted poster is being posted on every roaming caravan in egypt!” She replied, but no matter how hard she rode the horse was being weighed down by their packs. The man’s stead was suddenly beside them and his sword made a messy move to slash Pharah. The soldier freed her sword from her belt. Mercy had thought it was unnecessary for her to keep it there, but she stood corrected. “Sir, I’m warning you!” She lifted the sword and pointed it towards him. It was unwavering even as the horse galloped, slicing through the mid morning air as they lurched through it.

He faltered. And suddenly his sword was no longer in the air, and his hand was no longer on his arm. Pharah’s blade was nestled back in its hilt before the man could scream. His horse was spooked and the figure was thrown from the saddle.

“Fareeha!” Mercy screeched in disbelief.

“It worked, did it not?” Pharah replied, looking back at Angela with something she could call aggressive pride. Mercy’s eyes never left the man, watching with a deep stare of resentment and guilt.

“He will need a doctor…” was all she could say, wishing she was still one that could help.

“I would not worry, many a man loses a hand. He may have lost a hand, but you still have you life.”

“I…” Mercy did not know how to respond to that, but looked forward once again. “You make a better warrior than I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO CHAPTERS IN A DAY LIKE A BOSS


	6. Low Standards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not too much by way of the plot, but an interesting conversation between captor and captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I drew how I imagined Mercy's wings:  
> http://img11.deviantart.net/a884/i/2017/012/9/6/what_if_mercy_had_real_wings____me_in_class_by_syn99-dav7eq6.png
> 
> Disclaimer: lack of clothes but sort of censored lol

The skies must have suffered a great sorrow, for as soon as the sun fell they poured every last tear they had upon the land below. The rain was ceaseless, falling sideways as the wind tugged at it. The pair needed to stop for the night.

It must have taken Pharah an hour just to get the tent up, and Mercy stood shivering as she watched. Despite her attempts to help, the soldier was determined to do it on her own, saying she’d done this “a thousand times.” Mercy was in no position to argue but did comment that it was taking her “a thousand years.” The wind alone pulled a chill into her bones, and it seemed to be trying to rip the skin from them anyhow. The water was only there to add insult to injury. Her clothes were damp and though her feathers were water resistant, she couldn’t pull them around herself for warmth unless she wanted to be swathed in dripping plumage. 

Pharah looked down at the long awaited tent and grinned. 

It was small, pathetically so. But despite that the squeezed in for the the night. Only after this did Mercy realized how awkward the tent was. Due to her halo, they had light, a dim golden glow that tinted their faces yellow. But the lack of space was her main concern. An angel’s wings are no small thing, and she had to pull them besides her as she had no room to fold them behind her back. Pharah was not lounging in the lap of luxury either, she had her knees drawn up and wrapped her arms around them. Partially because she was tall and wasn’t sure what to do with her long legs, and because the rain had soaked through her shirt and she was still shivering. They both were. 

“Pharah..” Mercy whispered, though she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to. 

“Yes?”

“I’m freezing.” Her wings were dripping water onto the tent floor. Pharah searched one of the bags they’d brought in and found a spare change of clothing, handing it to Mercy. 

“If we stay in these wet clothes we’ll be freezing for longer.” She found some for herself and unfolded them. “Do.. do you mind turning off the..” Pharah pointed to the halo. “Privacy.” 

Mercy looked up and remembered, “oh yes, I forgot about this thing.” She took it off her head and the glowing stopped, though now the tent was filled with an impenetrable darkness. Mercy’s eyes glowed softly, though not enough to provide any real light. 

They began changing, silently, awkwardly. It wasn’t until Mercy was knocked in the nose till someone said anything. “OW!” Her face scrunched in the dark as she cupped it. 

“Sorry! I elbowed you will putting on my shirt.” Pharah grunted and it seemed she’d finally got it on. 

“Yes. I got that part.” Mercy grumbled, and not so accidentally whacked Pharah with a wing. 

“Mercy!” 

“I accidentally hit you because I wanted to,” she replied, finally wiggling into her pants. Mercy pulled on her shirt, glad she’d cut holes for her wings earlier. “Can I turn the light back on?” 

“I recommend you do,” Pharah replied and settled back into a sitting position. A moment followed and the light returned, Mercy having moved to lay on her stomach so she could fold her wings behind her. Pharah moved to lay on her back opposite to Angela, knees drawn up as should couldn’t stretch them in the small tent. The sound of  rain soothed them both into a dull state of relaxation.  The soldier’s eyes moved to watch the Halo, though not without Mercy’s notice. 

She waited a few minutes before commenting, looking back at her with a quirked eyebrow over her shoulder. . “Penny for your thoughts?” Mercy’s wings fidgeted as she turned rested her head in the crook of her crossed arms, not bothering to face Pharah while she awaited a reply. 

“I imagined halos were only a ring of light..”

“...As opposed to an actual ring?” She inquired. “I always thought the marking under Egyptian’s eyes were painted.. Not tattooed.” It must have been a painful process. “We learn new things everyday, I suppose.” 

Pharah nodded, picking at the skin around her nails idly. “We don’t learn that many things in a day.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Pharah shrugged. Mercy sighed, knowing that it wasn’t an “i don’t know shrug” but an “im not explaining what I mean” shrug. “Aren’t you going to tell me?” She urged. 

“You’re my prisoner, it isn’t like I  _ have _ to tell you,” Pharah replied, looking over at Mercy as she pushed herself onto her elbows. Mercy gave her a glare, the bored look in her eyes and the way one brow rose told Pharah the excuse wasn’t going to work. “It’s true, you’re my prisoner.” 

“Are you asking me to leave? Because if you think I won’t fly off you’ve misjudged the situation.” 

“No.” Pharah cleared her throat. “Don’t leave. I need to turn you in.” She sat up and put her hands in the up as if to stop Mercy. 

“You’re not making a very good case for my staying,” Mercy hummed. 

“Just, I can tie you up again.” It was then that Pharah decided to ask the question that’d been nagging her. “Why have you even stayed this long in the first place?” 

“Not sure,” she replied honestly, though the wide eyed look on Pharah’s face made her feel the need to elaborate. She sat up and crossed her legs. “It’s like I’ve said, I don’t have very much of a place to go. I’m really just… waiting to be recalled. But by the looks of those Wanted posters they’re having a harder time of finding me than I thought they would.. And the other angels must be less than happy with something I’ve done to ask for a bounty. Whatever you plan on doing to me can’t be worse than divine fury.” 

Pharah took a moment to think about it. “So… you’re only here because you know I’ll try and keep you from them?” 

“You’re a soldier, and a fine one at that. I wouldn’t be very good at fending for myself. I’m a healer and not much else.” She added, “and you’ve been kind enough to me. I don’t think you’re a bad person… even if you are a pagan worshipping heathen.” 

That made Fareeha chuckle. “Well, at least my prisoner doesn’t mind I’m a heathen.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as if her head hurt. “...my standards for success have lowered.” The soldier wouldn’t admit that she was worried for her people. If she couldn’t find them she didn’t know what she’d do. Mercy wouldn’t say that she knew Pharah was afraid. 

Once she pulled her halo off and they both settled in for the night, a small voice made an even quieter comment. “If you don’t find your people you can still keep your prisoner.” 

Pharah pretended to sleep.


	7. Heave O' Haul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah. Lookit that its another chapter of this... Suprise?

The city itself stood tall among the dunes,  the colorful houses stacked upon each other seemed to loom over the streets with hunched shoulders. Pharah looked up at the people peering from their balconies. They were pointing and speaking in murmurs, gesturing towards the warrior. Pulling her sights from the people above, Pharah looked ahead with a gaze so sharp it sliced the air into pieces. 

Mercy’s eyes were flitting from place to place. There were blankets and clothes set out to dry on the houses, and buildings pulled so close together she couldn’t find where they began and ended. Children ran across rooftops as men and women stopped to gawk at Pharah. She’d thought that odd. They must have known who she was. That or the impeccably forged iron armor was giving something away. 

The angel’s face was being hidden by her scarf, crystalline eyes left to poke out while the rest of her remained skillfully covered. Pharah had managed to hide her wings, strapping their bags high on the horse's back and covering the appendages so they blended in with the fabrics. It wasn’t foolproof, but it would do for now. 

“Keep your head low, and don’t speak to anyone here,” Pharah warned, directing the horse through the crowded streets. It was a slow crawl to the Nile. The river flowed through the center of city, the water was a deep and an inky blue, canoes and sails ran across it. “I’m going to rent us a boat, you stay here.” Pharah ordered and latched the horse to a post. She disappeared into a building huddled beside the river, leaving the angel to her own devices. She kicked her legs and fiddled with scarves. It didn’t take ten minutes for her to become very, very bored. But it took eleven for a scuffle to break out among the crowd. 

Someone was on the ground, and Mercy turned to see a ring of people forming around two blurred figures. Her heart beat in her ears, watching as red fell from the mouth of a smaller, meaker figure. The young woman peered up at what seemed to be an assailant before another blow collided with her gut. It was the shriek that pulled itself out of her teeth that forced the healer from her saddle. She struggled against the ropes around her ankles. Her wings pulled open, bags falling as the feathers shown in brilliant white. 

Pharah soon stumbled through the open door, a scroll in one hand and her sword in the other. She spared a glance at the crowd, who’d ceased their jeering to gawk at the display of feathers. Mercy stiffened, her eyes trying to find something useful, though she only found the small and crumpled figure. Before she could register the crowd’s reaction her ankles bonds had been sliced, a pointed glare from Pharah was enough to send her into the air. Within a breath, she was above the rooftops. Though the commotion below her rang out in a language she didn’t speak, the frantic scrambling transcended language. They were trying to catch her. 

Bows were drawn as men and women alike scrambled towards their balconies, climbing up every staircase they could find, tying ropes into lassos and pointing skywards, hands cupped over their eyes as if to salute the creature they yearned to capture. Mercy of course, was having none of this. She took off towards the sound of running water. The warm wind pushed her scarf down her neck and she worked out the kinks in her wings. The water of the Nile broke the dunes in a mirror blue scar that she followed until the city melted into the sand. Until buildings became huts and those became tents, until the last bits of man’s creations yielded to an expanse of nothingness broken only by dark flowing water. 

Like a heavy load, Mercy collided with the sands, the sky itself felt tired of carrying her weight. She looked up at a dulling sky, hand on her chest as she heaved. Her eyes squeezed shut as she smiled. A pull of facial muscles as she bared her teeth. The angel looked up at the sky, she felt boundless. She felt the crushing weight of unadulterated freedom. She had no idea where the  _ fuck _ she was. Nowhere. Nowhere. She was nowhere.

Pulling her aching ribs from the sand, Mercy looked around. It was a rather hopeless situation, Angela noted to herself. Nevertheless she found herself on her feet, tottering on her stiff legs as her wings begrudgingly pulled their feathers off the ground. She wandered towards the Nile, looking down as it churned water but didn’t cough up any guidance. But down the river came a sound. A lilting rhythm. It got louder as it got closer, and just how out of tune it was came into clearer focus. 

“We are outward bound for Kingston town  
With a heave-o, haul!  
And we'll heave the old wheel round and round  
Good morning ladies all!” 

Mercy screwed up her nose, looking down the shaking waters. That was an accent she hadn’t heard since she’d been a girl. And that was a song she hadn’t heard since spending time with the British seaman. 

“And when we get to Kingston town  
With a heave-o, haul!

Oh, 'tis there we'll drink and sorrow drown  
Good morning ladies all!” 

Louder now as a speck appeared upon the silver waters. The sun was sinking but the singer didn’t seem to mind. Two figures could be made out on the boat, one paddling and another, scrawnier form trampling back and forth, nearly taking a dive as she caught her foot in the planks. “Oi! Who put the water there?” She cried, clearly finding herself hilarious as she crumpled into laughter. 

Mercy’s eyes widened. She’d know that voice anywhere, even if it’d been years since she’d last heard it. The second passenger came into focus, Pharah.

Oxton didn’t even wait for the boat to reach the shore to come splashing out. “Angie!” A pair of arms were wrapped around her neck, the younger woman too drunk to pay mention to the blood she’d wiped from her nose. Pharah sighed and dug an anchor into the sand. 

“I found the woman you were trying to help.” The soldier ground out. “I hope you’re happy with her.” She muttered sitting on the sand with a breath so large you’d have thought a lung would have come loose with it. Lena was looking up at Mercy like a puppy awaiting a treat. “I gave her some whiskey so she’d stop complaining but she started singing and…” Pharah looked about ready to accept death. 

With a grin glued to her face Lena flopped into the sand, her characteristic blue glowing chest more apparent as the sunset. Mercy pried through the bags and pulled out what few medical supplies Pharah seemed to have manage to preserve. She examined the young woman’s ribs and abdomen, quick and careful fingers prodding slightly as Oxton giggled uncontrollably. By the time Mercy had finished with her examination, she was drooling into the sand. 

It was silent. A silence that hung low in the air. Pharah glared at the Nile and Mercy pretended to watch Oxton sleep. Finally, a statement bubbled up from the soldier’s chest. “I will bind your wings again.” Pharah was in no way a fan of the idea, that much was clear. She was a soldier, not a jailer. And she clearly didn’t play that part well. 

“I couldn’t just  _ sit _ there.” Mercy objected, her eyes narrowing. “And nothing came of it. It isn’t like I have anywhere to go, there’s nowhere for me to fly to.” She gestured to the miles of nowhere around them. “I wasn’t trying to escape.” 

Pharah looked almost peeved by that statement. She’d expected a fight, a vengeful creature ready to call upon the wrath of the heavens to get her way. Without another word, she pulled a bedroll from the boat and a length of rope. Tying one side to her own ankle and the other to Mercy’s the woman tossed herself into the roll. Silent settled in like a heavy fog once again.

A huff from the angel cleared it before she whisked the silence away with purpose. “What is it? What reason do you have to be upset?” Mercy pressed. 

Pharah remained still. 

“Oh come on, you can’t be serious?” She scowled at her back, feathers puffing. 

“Oh leave ‘er,” Oxton was sweeping sand from her face. “She’s peeved for no reason good.” Her words were slow, and she rocked like a nursery chair as she made her way to Mercy. 

Mercy rolled her eyes, leaning against the young woman. “...How have you been?” 

Oxton waved a hand and cleared the question from the air. “No worse for wear. But you’re quite the story, eh?” She turned on her rear towards Mercy’s wings, pink fingers reaching forward to touch the feathers. “Never gonna get used to these, sure are pretty though...” 

“They’re more trouble than they’re worth.” Mercy sighed as she watched Lena’s chest glow through the fabric of her vest. After a beat, she relaxed as much as she could into the sand. “We should sleep.” 

 

Tracer drifted off, still singing softly to herself. 

Pharah lay awake. She kept a careful ear on the night as she lay facing the angel and the young woman. They looked like tossed dice, left carelessly facing the stars. It bothered her to no end. It was harder to ignore now. Mercy slept fitfully, whatever was running behind her eyes made her fingers twitch, her legs kicked as her boots scrabbled at the sand. She slept like the many men Pharah had served with. Her hands were skilled and just as careful as her home’s physicians. She assisted those she could without a moment's hesitation, as she’d always strived to do. 

She’d been prepared to capture an agent of evil. A hypocrite, a winged monstrosity. A murderous dignitary who would meet the earth’s end to destroy Pharah’s people. 

 

She wondered what she was doing. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> First of a longer story lol, bit of a short intro just to get things going and set things up 
> 
> Not sure about the full scope of the world building here but its def fantasy cool stuff with monsters and magic and all that jazz


End file.
